


Throwing Stones at the Stars: Outtakes

by robocryptid



Series: Throwing Stones at the Stars [2]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Angst, Blood and Violence, Drinking to Cope, Injury Recovery, M/M, Minor Original Character(s), Permanent Injury
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-11
Updated: 2018-04-08
Packaged: 2019-03-16 20:30:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13643883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/robocryptid/pseuds/robocryptid
Summary: A collection of scenes that didn’t make it into “Throwing Stones at the Stars,” whether because they were deemed distracting/extraneous, or because I needed to get into a different character’s head while the main work is all Hanzo’s POV.





	1. Jesse 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This takes place immediately after Ch. 8, from Jesse’s point of view.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warnings for this chapter: Jesse’s unhealthy coping mechanisms, including drinking.

Jesse had been run out of town before, nothing new here except the way his heart stuck in his throat on top of everything else it was doing. He thought they might kill him on his way out the door, but it seemed the Shimadas were bound by Hanzo’s decree in some way he’d never understand.

He was escorted back to his room by Azami. She’d always been alright. Way he’d heard it, she might have even defended him a time or two. He almost wished it was someone else. She watched him, sharp eyes glittering. He figured she wasn’t much older than him, but she had this sort of “no bullshit” vibe about her. Tough one to crack. Charm hadn’t ever worked well on her.

She watched him change clothes, and he pretended it didn’t bother him. Way she was eyeing him, she just wanted to make sure he wasn’t armed, anyway. He thought, briefly, about leaving his ratty running shorts here, about burning the whole outfit. In the end, he shoved it all into his bag anyway.

“Don’t suppose you’ll let me get a message out, arrange some transit?” he asked. No harm in trying.

She watched him, and he could see the gears turning in her head. She was pretty, smart as a whip, a little too serious and could probably kill him any time she wanted. He could admit he had a type. Any other context, he probably would’ve tried something eventually, but this one he’d had Hanzo pulling at him like a magnet from day one. He shoved that thought away, compartmentalized for later. Eventually, she asked, “Will it get you out of here faster?”

He wasn’t sure how to take it. Maybe she just wanted him gone. But he knew she’d been the one to help drag his ass back after that ambush, had covered for him and— she’d covered for him. Maybe she didn’t want him dead. “Sure will,” he said, and she nodded, watched him pull out his phone and tap out a few words.

She was wary when he went for his gun, made him stop. She took it herself, took all his ammo and dropped the bullets carelessly into his bag. She held onto the gun and holster both. “You can have it when we’re outside,” she said, and he grunted. It was smart, but he felt it like an itch under his skin. “Hurry up.”

He finished packing, shoved his hat on his head and picked up his bags. When he lifted them up, he caught a peek of a little scrap of silk, bright blue, right there in his bed. Azami saw it too, and he froze, staring at it. It was a ribbon, one of the ones Hanzo sometimes liked to tie his hair back with. Jesse’d stolen this one, treated it like a good luck charm while he hunted Masuda and Talon mercs for the elders. It had kept him company on his rare nights spent alone. No use giving it back; it was stained with someone else’s blood. Maybe it could keep him company again later, when he let himself think about it all.

Azami’s eyes were still on him when he shifted his bags and shoved the ribbon in his pocket. She followed at his heels as he wound his way through the compound, only guards watching his exit. He’d escaped the gallows, but couldn’t shake the feeling he was marching toward them instead.

Outside the gate, alone with Azami, he thought again that she might kill him. But she only stood for a moment. “Should you call a car?” He grunted, unsure, checked his phone. Baqri was coming in from Tokyo. They wanted to pick him up outside city limits, but he figured Azami wasn’t going to leave him alone until then.

“Wanna grab an early lunch?” he asked, made himself smile at her.

She snorted, and surprisingly enough, she smiled back a little. “You’re an idiot.”

“Ain’t wrong about that,” he said, shrugging. “Got some time to kill though. You stickin’ around?”

“Until you have left Hanamura.”

He nodded, thought about it. If he outstayed his welcome, he’d bet good money she was ready to put him down. But she seemed like the type to give him his full forty-eight hours, right to the minute. “Lunch it is, then.”

They ate at the ramen shop, walls of the compound still in sight. He’d been before, with Genji and a couple other times he didn’t feel like thinking about, and the owner was polite and cheery like he didn’t hand over a chunk of his profits to folks like them once a month. Jesse ate, and he thought if there was one silver lining, it’s that he could treat himself to a good plate of steak and potatoes soon. He figured he’d give himself a good month or two before he bothered with rice or noodles again, and there were a few foods he’d be happy to leave behind altogether. Azami let him eat in peace, watching him occasionally. She had a gun on each hip, one of them his, but she never did anything to deliberately remind him.

When they were finished, she called for a car. He couldn’t make out everything she said still, but he heard her drop the name Shimada, and the cab showed up in under three minutes. He wondered if he’d miss that easy access, but he thought about what it all cost and figured he could handle rude service and waiting for cabs a few minutes longer. The cab took them out of Hanamura, and Jesse forced himself not to look back.

They stopped right outside the city. Jesse paid for the cab himself, wondered as it drove off how Azami planned to get back. She was still here. He pulled out his phone, sent a message to Baqri. “Thought you were leaving once I was out of the city,” he said.

“You could easily walk back from here.”

He laughed a little, something bitter rising in the back of his throat. “I promise that ain’t gonna happen.” He cleared his throat, then he smiled at her. “Be unfair to the world to lose a face like this one.”

“Your promises mean very little, Mr., ah, McCree.” She didn’t say it to be hurtful, but between the words and the way she’d almost said the wrong name, it stung anyway. “But,” she continued, and he froze a little, waiting, “for what it is worth, I don’t think you should die yet.”

Huh. He looked at her then, and she only looked back, with her unflappable stare. He thought about making her an offer; it wasn’t what he’d come here for, but Gabe wouldn’t be as mad about the bust if Jesse showed up with a new agent anyway. Maybe she didn’t have dragons crawling around inside her, but he’d seen her fight and wouldn’t want to go against her. He lit a cigarette, still considering her. “You know, we always got room for folks with skills like yours,” he finally said.

She seemed surprised. She even laughed again. “You wish to take another souvenir of your time here?” He flinched, and he could feel her measuring him when he did it. “No, Mr. McCree.”

“Shit’s gonna go down back there. Don’t think you’re gonna much like your job soon.”

She hummed. “No, but they are my family. I won’t abandon them.” He knew she didn’t mean the whole family right then. He nodded. “Did you offer this to anyone else?”

He swallowed, couldn’t look at her. “I tried. With Genji and—” He couldn’t say it, felt like a coward. “Hard to do when I still had a cover, though. They both said no.”

She nodded, unsurprised. “You really—” She stopped, seemed to consider her words. “What you did here was dishonorable. But you were a man between worlds, and you did your best.” He flinched again, away from her piercing eyes. “I saw the way you fought for him,” she said, and it made his breath catch, afraid she would say too much aloud. “You want him safe.”

He nodded, mouth dry. “Both of them. Genji’s — was — my friend.”

“I will look after them,” she said, and he thought it was a promise. He could see, in the distance, a car coming.

He smiled at her, and he was tired but he didn’t have to force it. “Maybe you could take over my job. Can’t think of anybody better.”

“I may ask for it. They won’t want to hire another outsider.”

He looked at her, thinking. “I’m gonna give you a number. You gotta memorize it, can’t write it down. If you ever reconsider, or if either of them need it, you call, you give ‘em my name.” She looked at him, suspiciously at first, but she nodded slowly at him. He said it slow, made her repeat it back to him.

Baqri pulled up then, seemed tense until they realized Azami was alone. Jesse smirked a little, thought Baqri would be in for a hell of a surprise if they tried to challenge her. He dropped his bags into the trunk, and Azami cautiously handed him back his gun. “Be careful, Mr. McCree.”

“You too,” he said, and tipped his hat at her. They left her standing there, and Jesse was sure he could feel her eyes on the back of his head all the way to Tokyo.

Baqri didn’t ask, and Jesse didn’t offer the story. But he was able to relax a little. Baqri had never been much for talk, but they were easy to get along with, a little less scummy than a lot of Blackwatch. They invited him into the safehouse, an unassuming little apartment, and he played cards and made Baqri laugh with a story about Genji running off to the arcade. He’d only shrugged when Jesse found him and challenged him to an air hockey game; he’d laughed and promised to go back when Jesse finally won. It had taken four rounds, Genji cackling the whole time, and Jesse suspected he’d let him win the last one just because he’d gotten bored. “Sounds like a cute kid,” Baqri said.

“Yeah, you’d’a liked him,” Jesse said.

“Wish I had a vacation like that,” they said, and Jesse snorted. Baqri still never asked about the hard parts of the mission, why or how Jesse’d left.

Gabe himself showed up to drag Jesse’s ass back to Geneva. He waited for the old man’s “told you so,” but it didn’t come right away. Instead he demanded a full briefing on the flight, pressed him about Talon in particular. 

He told Gabe everything he could remember: how they’d fallen just like any other foe, but how, a couple nights back now, they’d ambushed him. Four agents to his one; he’d killed them all, then that weird woman with the German accent had made him an offer to join them. He should have killed her too, he thought, but she’d been unarmed, disappeared quick as she’d come, and instead of keeping up the hunt he’d gone back to Hanzo.

“Thinkin’ with your dick,” Gabe muttered. Jesse didn’t deny it, was too tired to argue with Gabe about any of this again. “How’d that pan out for you?”

“Still alive,” Jesse said, then he pulled his hat down over his eyes and tried to sleep.

They came as they always did these days, dragons sniffing around him, creeping in on his nightmares and other dreams, just watching at first. He could see them at the edges of this one, a nightmare where he ran from rabid dogs always on his heels. They only watched, didn’t intervene, and he’d gotten past the fear and the awe and was just angry at them this time. Why didn’t they _do_ something? He tripped over a log, and one of the dogs lunged for him, caught his jeans right at the ankle. He kicked it off and scrambled forward, kept running until he saw a door. He got inside as another dog lunged, caught it right in the face with the slam of the door, and inside, the dragons waited. They were curious, snuffling at him like ordinary animals, but huge and blue and illuminating everything with their glow. As always, they didn’t speak, only watched him and unnerved him with their otherworldly presence, a weighty sensation that made him feel shivery all over. “What do you want?” he snapped, and they only stared. “Fuck you,” he said, and they coiled around him, too warm and radiating something like pity.

He had to debrief with Jack fucking Morrison, too, couldn’t get a minute to himself first. He started at the top, tried to keep some details to a minimum, but Gabe helpfully said, “He was fucking the older brother.”

Jack rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I saw the reports. The hell is wrong with you, McCree?”

Something like shame flooded through him, but he wasn’t about to plead his case again. It had been bad enough with Gabe. “Ain’t my fault I’m so irresistible. What’d you want me to do when he came on to me?” It wasn’t the truth, made bitterness rise in his throat again, but it’s not like either of them wanted to hear what it had really been like, the way Hanzo’s eyes had seemed to cut right through him, set his nerves to singing the way they did when he was on the winning side of a firefight. Jack and Gabe would probably only be more pissed if Jesse waxed poetic about his smile or strange, surprising gentleness when they were alone, and Jesse didn’t feel much like thinking about it anyway.

“You should’ve kept it in your pants,” Jack said, all haughty like he’d been right about Jesse all along. He’d never much trusted him, never seemed to like Gabe’s decision to take him or other scoundrels in.

Jesse sighed, scrubbed a hand over his face. “Yeah, well. He’s the reason I’m still alive to see your pretty face again, Jack.”

“He gave the order to kill you.”

“Any of ‘em would’ve. He gave the order that bought me time, turned their rules right around on ‘em.”

“Idiot,” Gabe muttered. Jesse shrugged, but they didn’t push him on it again, let him finish the debrief without mentioning Hanzo too much more. They asked about the dragons, and he told them with a straight face that he still didn’t know. Was the least he could do, all things considered, and he’d faced enough of their disappointment today that it didn’t bother him so much.

They let him go, and he went back to his room. It was weird, didn’t feel like his any more, too sterile and too Western, he supposed, all sharp whites and grays and blues and no warm, ancient wood or stone or tile mixed in at all. No screens or painted scrolls or low, pleasant lighting, just a fluorescent overhead with the same sterility as the rest of the room. No company, either. In the safety of his room, he let himself miss Hanzo.

He opened his window to get some air, then he dug through his closet, found a bottle of cheap whiskey still two-thirds full. He dragged his desk chair to the window, lit a cigarette, and he drank a few swigs straight from the bottle. He should’ve kept his dick in his pants, he figured. It sucked when Jack was right. It sucked when Jack and Gabe agreed, especially. Or maybe he shouldn’t have been such a coward, should’ve realized he’d already fucked the mission sideways and gone for the gold. Should’ve been brave instead of keeping up the lie, only ever telling Hanzo the truth in languages he was hopeless to understand. He should’ve confessed, all the way, told him everything and then maybe Hanzo would’ve said yes, would be here now instead of halfway across the world, hating Jesse.

Hanzo probably deserved to hate him. He wasn’t real proud of himself, either. He didn’t know what all had been in that file, but it was on Jesse for letting him come to his own conclusions in the first place. Hanzo was probably as wrong as Jack and Gabe, but he wasn’t wrong that Jesse’d hid things from him, kept him in the dark. He’d thought he was protecting them both, but it turned out he’d only been covering his own ass. But he’d been too afraid, afraid of the way Hanzo shied away when Jesse got too deep in his feelings, afraid of the consequences of coming clean about the mission. He’d just wanted more time.

He made it most of the way through the bottle before he remembered the ribbon in his pocket. He yanked it out, stared at it for a moment, then set it on his lap so he could light another cigarette and hold his whiskey at the same time. He thought about Hanzo’s face, screwed up tight with a kind of anger Jesse’d never seen before. Downright scary, and Jesse deserved every bit of it. Nobody would’ve had to tell him then that Hanzo had dragons alive inside of him. He’d been sure he was about to die, and he’d been ready for it, checked himself out and tried to go blank just like Gabe had taught him. And then Hanzo just stopped, got that snotty, princely look on his face. It had always turned him into a giant knot, filled him with a hundred competing desires: to crawl on his knees and swear fealty, to bend him over and prove he wasn’t any better than Jesse, to find the cracks in that armor and make him laugh instead. Hanzo had looked at him like that and saved his worthless life.

”Fuck you,” he slurred at the ribbon, but even he knew he didn’t really mean it. He felt the ache behind his eyes, felt the way they burned, and he just let it all come then, cried his way through the rest of the bottle until he passed out in his chair. He didn’t dream about anything, and the dragons didn’t come back again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ummm this is kinda self-indulgent and angsty, mostly, but I wanted to work out how Jesse reacted to everything (without giving away so much of his side that it spoils the story from Hanzo’s POV).


	2. Azami

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another moment between chapters 8 and 9, in which we learn how Genji escaped death.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning: obviously blood/gore, although I left a lot of details deliberately vague.

The room smelled like a storm, like the sky was ready to open up and lightning would crackle in any moment. It smelled like blood, too. She could see it, in the lamplight, gleaming dark on the floor. He deserved more than this, she thought. She wondered if she should cover him, at least, spare his dignity before the elders came to see what Hanzo had done.

She crept closer to him; she refused to let herself look away. He seemed to glow, at times, a sickly green that winked in and out. She had seen his dragon a few times, mostly when he let it out, inappropriately enough, to _play_. Now it had no form, but it was present. She wondered if it would die, too.

As if on cue, she heard him groan. He was still alive? Hanzo had been reckless, sloppy not to finish, and Azami’s heart pounded in her ears, horror and hope combined in a sickening rush. She moved closer still, reached a careful hand out to touch his hair, one of the few places on his body that wasn’t bleeding. He made another sound, low and pitiful, but he didn’t open his eyes. She wondered if he even could now.

She considered the blade at her back, the gun on her hip. She could end it for him, provide him this final kindness. But he glowed, still, the dragon fighting for his life, and she couldn’t disrespect its wishes.

“This will hurt,” she said, barely above a whisper. “I’m sorry, little sparrow.” She hoped the dragon would keep fighting, and she hauled him in, got him draped over her shoulders. He was heavier than it seemed he should have been, and she struggled with his weight. Every groan made her heart ache, made her pulse thunder in her ears with the knowledge that they could be caught, and she would die with him if so.

She shouldn’t have gotten out. She should have been seen; no amount of stealth could hide the way she stumbled under his weight. But the compound was in chaos; something else was happening, and she couldn’t know what, could only focus on the task at hand. Perhaps the dragon hid them, continued to fight for him in its unknowable way.

Knowing he might still die, she took him to the alley behind the arcade he loved, set him carefully down. Hands tacky with his blood, she drew her gun in one hand and phone in the other. She punched in the number she had memorized long ago. It rang, only once, before a woman’s voice answered, only “Hello.”

“Jesse McCree,” Azami said. “I need him.”

The voice hesitated. “Who is this?”

“An old… friend. He said you would help.”

They asked few questions, already knew where she was, and several agents arrived swiftly. “Please,” was all she could say, gesturing at Genji beside her. She knew what it looked like; she was covered in his blood. She watched their field medic curse at the sight of him, look at her with suspicion.

“We cannot fix this,” he said, and Azami felt the sting of tears.

“You must.” She wouldn’t weep in front of these strangers. “Please,” she said again, hating the sound of her voice. “If he remains, they will surely kill him. They won’t— he won’t even have a proper funeral.”

They looked among themselves, and she cursed at them. They were wasting time. One of them got on a comm, spoke a language she didn’t know, and then they agreed. But they wouldn’t let her come. For all they knew, she had been part of it. She let them take him from her, and she hoped the dragon would forgive her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you were curious about why Azami mattered to the story beyond her help with McHanzo shenanigans, I thought I’d fill in my head canon for how the hell Genji got from Hanzo’s sword to Overwatch custody. 
> 
> I went sparse on the details of Genji’s body because I still feel that there’s nothing a writer can create that matches whatever we conjure up in our own minds.


	3. Jesse 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jesse's POV for chapters 9 and 10. This one's a little more light-hearted most of the way through than some of the angstier bits. I'm not even convinced it's all "canon" for this fic, but it certainly could have gone this way.

**[JM]**  
>he got a haircut

 **[GS]**  
>what  
>how is this news

 **[JM]**  
>from a salon like a normal person

 **[GS]**  
>oh that IS weird  
>think it’s for a job?

 **[JM]**  
>doubt it  
>never done it before has he?  
>looks good though

Jesse smirked as he sent it, and Genji’s answer was about what he expected.

 **[GS]**  
>please no

 **[JM]**  
>I’m bored to death here  
>can't blame me for noticing

 **[GS]**  
>can and will blame you for telling me  
>youre gross and we cant be friends any more

Jesse snorted, and his comm dinged again.

 **[GS]  
** >thank you jesse

—

 **[JM]**  
>he's still not taking jobs afaik  
>he pierced his nose though?  
>not the nostril or like a bull  
>the other kind

 **[GS]  
** >is this where you tell me about your sudden piercing fetish bc i really dont need that

 **[JM]**  
>no  
>I got a ninja covered in metal in my life already  
>been pining away all these years  
>just waiting for you to notice me baby  
>sweetheart  
>apple of my eye

 **[GS]  
** >STOP

 **[JM]**  
>light of my life

 **[GS]**  
>why are we friends

 **[JM]  
** >it’s weird though right?

 **[GS]**  
>so weird

—

Jesse didn’t text Genji about the bar he watched Hanzo go to, nor the guy he left with. He followed, but only long enough to be sure this wasn’t a mark, wasn’t someone from Talon either. He left it alone after that, gave them their privacy. He wasn't especially interested in the rest. He checked in on the guy in the morning, made sure he wasn’t dead, and the next time Hanzo went to a bar, Jesse went back to the safehouse early. Hanzo could take care of himself well enough anyway.

—

 **[JM]**  
>I really don't think he’s up to anything  
>like nothing at all  
>he just hangs out and does whatever he feels like

 **[GS]  
** >like what

 **[JM]**  
>normal people stuff  
>normal for people who don't have to work

 **[GS]  
** >like what tho

Jesse sighed, tried to line up his phone to one of the lenses of his binoculars. It worked, better than he expected. He snapped a photo and sent it along.

 **[GS]  
** >did he get a dog

 **[JM]**  
>no that's somebody else's dog  
>he's just in the park

 **[GS]**  
>he pets strangers dogs in the park  
>he pets dogs and talks to strangers  
>what the FUCK  
>:) :) :) :) :)

Jesse smiled a little, but he couldn’t summon Genji’s enthusiasm for himself. He hadn’t figured out yet how to tell Genji about the drinking or times he'd seen him pacing late at night. He didn’t know if he  _should_  tell Genji. Seemed like the kind of thing Hanzo ought to tell him himself, if the time ever came. Jesse was uncomfortable enough tailing him, wasn’t sure he had it in him to violate his privacy further.

 **[JM]  
** >he went to the arcade earlier

 **[GS]  
** >are you sure youre tailing the right guy

 **[JM]  
** >100% sure

 **[GS]  
** >nm forget i asked

 **[JM]  
** >wanna know how I know

 **[GS]**  
>please no  
>no  
>no  
>no

 **[JM]**  
>thought so  
>don’t insult my judgment when I'm doing you a favor

—

He tagged out for a while, hopped down to mainland China to knock out a quick bounty, then up to Osaka to shake up some yakuza getting too big for their britches. But he went back to Tokyo, and Hanzo was still there, still in the little apartment doing God knew what.

He started to get bored, wondering if something was going to happen. They knew Talon were still hanging around; Jesse’d spotted one of them, just once, got out before they could see him too. They didn’t want Hanzo dead though. Reaper would’ve done it that first night if they had. Jesse hadn’t got a good look, but Lena said it was him. Talon wanting him alive was worse in a few ways, Jesse knew, and they were biding their time just like Overwatch. 

So he stayed, and he fought down the restlessness and the memories that kept trying to bubble up, because Genji had asked and because he still remembered Amélie. Jesse hadn’t made up his mind yet about who Hanzo was now, but he figured he owed it to who he had been not to let him end up like Widowmaker. Didn’t seem right for anyone, and even worse for someone who’d had his head fucked with that much already.

He was watching Hanzo in the park again when he got another message.

 **[GS]  
** >can you talk

 **[JM]**  
>kinda busy right now  
>watching your brother take a walk  
>very important stuff

 **[GS]  
** >call when you can

Jesse grunted, but he figured Hanzo hadn’t gotten up to anything yet, so he could leave him alone. He made his way back to the safehouse, and he called Genji.

“I really hope that wasn’t more innuendo,” was how Genji answered.

“It wasn’t. You’re the one who keeps makin’ it weird.”

Genji laughed. Jesse could hear him moving around, shuffling things about wherever he was. “I have to go off the grid for a while. Nepal. No comms.”

“How long?”

“Not sure. A few weeks, maybe.”

Jesse huffed, lit up a smoke. “And?”

“I need you to stay until… until he makes up his mind.”

Jesse hummed to himself, and he heard Genji stop moving. He’d been dreading this talk, but someone had to have it. “What if he already has? He seems alright here. Seems to like whatever he’s doin’.”

“Unlikely,” Genji said, quick and short. “This isn’t… He’s resting, but it won’t last.”

“Yeah? What if he says no?”

“He won’t.” Genji didn’t sound so sure. “He’ll do it, even if… He’ll do it.”

“Even if it’s so he can kill you,” Jesse finished for him.

“Yes.”

Jesse sighed. They’d already had this discussion a few times, and there wasn’t any talking Genji out of it. “You sure it should be me?” he asked instead.

“I’m sure he needs to know, and surprising him with it in Gibraltar will only ruin whatever trust we build before that.”

Jesse hummed, studied his boots for a minute. They needed a good cleaning at this point. “Let’s say he agrees. Got anything you want me to say to him?”

“Just the truth, Jesse.”

Jesse laughed. That was a tall order, all things considered. “I’ll do my best. ‘M not gonna fuck it up for you.”

—

Easier said than done. Winston told him Hanzo did call, soon as Genji left, because Shimadas never could be expected to make things easy on him or on each other. So Jesse planned, stayed up half the night preparing what he was gonna say, and when he got there Hanzo shot it all down anyway.

He felt lost in the face of it. Nobody ever taught him how to appeal to somebody who had every reason to be suspicious of his considerable charms. Genji’d said to just tell the truth, and he tried, but Hanzo wasn't in the mood to hear it. Jesse felt lost just looking at him, too. He’d spent months checking in on him, watching him go about his day from as far away as he could get. None of it had prepared him to see him up close again, actually hear his voice. It didn’t seem to matter that most of it was hostile, not when Jesse had earned at least some of it. He’d be fine, probably, if it was just that Hanzo was at least as good looking as he’d been before — better looking, if Jesse was being honest. Age and that haircut both suited him. Jesse figured there might be some residual symptoms, and it’s not like he hadn’t noticed while he was tailing him. A long time ago, Gabe had told him some metaphor — like Jesse was too stupid to know about all the Nietzsche on Gabe's bookshelf — about scar tissue healing stronger than before, but Jesse's ripped right open and Hanzo's voice crawled back in, made itself at home alongside that mean stare and the way he’d looked in the car when Jesse finally made him laugh. 

But that mean stare was another kind of problem, too, didn’t get him all hot and bothered like it had when he’d been a kid. It pissed him right off, more than once, right along with Hanzo’s stubborn refusal to hear anything he didn’t want to. He’d braced himself for the possibility that seeing him might stir up some old feelings, had gone in thinking he  _owed_ him. He figured he still did, for more than a few reasons, and he definitely owed Genji the good faith effort he’d promised. He was willing to deal with it, and he could deal with all that residual bullshit, too. What he hadn't prepared for, though, despite all he knew, was the realization that Hanzo was actually, legitimately  _kind of an asshole_. He smirked to himself, wondering if it was a sign he’d grown up a little in spite of all his efforts not to.


	4. Jesse 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Snippets focusing _mostly_ on Jesse's relationship with Genji (with some thoughts about Hanzo) spanning chapters 7-18.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mostly needed to get this out of my system to be able to focus on writing/editing upcoming chapters, heh. Listen this is just. It's really, really angsty. Let's all be grateful the main story is Hanzo POV, because at least his utter lack of self-awareness prevents this kind of in-your-face wallowing most of the time.

“What’s it like?” Genji asked. He had the cigarette pinched between his thumb and finger like he wished he was smoking something else. Jesse waited; he didn’t know what Genji was after except bucking at the reins a little. They were out behind the arcade, sitting in the dark with their backs to the wall. It reminded Jesse of high school – what little he’d been to – skulking off with Alex and Rosa to smoke cigarettes.

“What’s what like?” he asked. He took a careful sip from the flask Genji shared with him, but he handed it back pretty soon. No point showing up buzzed later. Hanzo’d have questions, whether or not he’d bother to ask them.

“Going on those dates.” 

Jesse shifted his weight. Genji was strange sometimes; he didn’t much seem to care what anybody else thought or felt, but then he’d come out with these questions. Like maybe he thought of them as friends. “It’s the job,” Jesse answered with a shrug. Genji snorted, gave him one of those sly sideways looks he had. He held it long enough Jesse started to get irritated, but he had no one else to talk to. “Fine. It fuckin’ sucks.”

It did. Hanzo’d caught him out too, or Aoi had for him, but they both seemed to miss the damn point. Jesse didn’t feel threatened by the pretty women Hanzo’s family set him up with. It was plain enough Hanzo was in this boat because his head wasn’t gonna turn for any woman at all. But it rubbed something raw every time Jesse took him out somewhere just to stand behind his shoulder looking on. He wanted to be the one at the table with him, and that slim chance starved a little more every day that passed.

“Are you in love with my brother?” Genji asked on a stream of smoke.

Jesse scrubbed a hand through his hair, joined it with the second one and scraped nails over his own scalp. What a fucking question. But he had nobody to tell, not long as Hanzo shut down and started pulling back any time Jesse even  _thought_ it. The confession stuck at the end of his tongue, made his chest go tight. “Little late for the shovel talk, ain’t it?” he asked instead.

“I don’t know what that means,” Genji answered, looked like he thought it was sort of funny.

“You know,” he said, then pitched his voice deep and bossy like Jack’s or Gabe’s. “‘I got a shotgun and a shovel, you hurt him, I’ll bury you where nobody can find you’.” 

“Oh,” Genji said with a laugh, and even when he was done the side of his mouth stayed pulled up a grin. “I would not use a shotgun.” Jesse snorted, but Genji’s face went much more serious, and he looked hard at Jesse. “Besides, my brother is more likely to do it himself.”

* * *

Jesse hated this part of his day, but he was under strict orders, and he really wasn’t interested in pissing Gabe off right now. He was already getting enough shit without giving him reason. So he shoved open the door at 14:00 on the nose and settled into the chair, boots propped up on the end of the bed like there was nowhere else he’d rather be.

“Need anything?” he asked, and Genji glared at him, red-tinted eyes glittering angrily out from a red and pink face. He was hard to look at, but Jesse figured he owed him that much, had a hunch he might be one of the only people to meet his eye these days.

Genji chucked a book of crossword puzzles at Jesse. He thumbed through it, found all of them finished. He figured he couldn’t blame him for being all piss and vinegar; he’d been through all this, and now he was probably bored outta his mind. “Can getcha another of these if you want.” 

Genji rattled off a few colorful phrases in Japanese. It had never been Jesse’s strongest language and he was rusty on it now, but he got the point, translated it mostly as several creative renditions of  _fuck off_. “You know well as I do that don’t work. Lemme know if you need somethin’.” He pulled out the book he’d brought with him; if the past couple weeks had taught him anything, it was that he needed to bring his own entertainment.

He stared at the book, turned the pages on a careful, studied rhythm, but he didn’t read a damn word. This was the part he hated. Genji acting like a piss-ant didn’t really get at him most of the time. Jesse figured he couldn’t blame him for any of it, even if he’d been a stranger. 

The thing was, he could picture it, how it might’ve happened. He’d seen them fight a couple times under the eyes of those goddamned elders. The memories were vivid, and his imagination filled in the rest. It made him think of Hanzo too, how he had been. Jesse’d thought he was  _hot_ with a sword in hand, right up to the day he’d almost used it on Jesse himself. Even knowing what he knew about that whole damn family, it was hard to reconcile the sight of Genji with some of his other memories. Not a one of them didn’t ache.

Eventually, Genji got bored with the silence like he always did. “I heard a joke yesterday,” he told Jesse.

“Yeah? Lemme hear it,” Jesse said with a smile, though he wasn’t so dumb he didn’t catch the warning signs in Genji’s eyes.

“Jesse McCree has two loves of his life, and both have tried to kill him.”

Jesse felt it dig in deep and make his stomach clench. He figured Genji would start bringing this up eventually, but he hadn’t expected the old joke to come back. Jesse made himself look as bored as he was able. “Your delivery’s all wrong. Joke’s old anyway.”

“Why two?”

“One of ‘em’s Overwatch. Seem to like leavin’ us for dead.”

Genji looked at him, eyes still glittering. “What is it like?”

Jesse sighed. “What is what like?” 

“To get the wrong brother back.”

* * *

Jesse had to chase him down, and he felt a little sick to his stomach watching what Genji was capable of now. Sometimes he thought Angie’d done a little  _too_ good a job fixing his body up. He passed by an enemy agent that was more  _meat_ than person, nearly tripped over more than one body on his way. 

He found Genji on his back, snarling to himself. One of his legs was bent all wrong, but he just seemed angry. Jesse was still trying to figure out how much he could  _feel._ The dragon hunched nearby, seemed ready to snap at him if he fucked this up. It washed Genji in a sickly green light, but it didn’t move on Jesse.

“C’mon,” Jesse said as he got close, holstered his gun so the dragon would hang back. Genji’s eyes snapped to him, all fire and rage as always. “I gotcha,” he said. 

Genji didn’t say anything, but he didn’t fight either as Jesse checked him over and hauled him to his feet. He had to lean on Jesse, but he could hobble, at least, could leave Jesse with an arm free for his gun should trouble come calling again. 

The dragon trailed behind them, made the back of his neck prickle, but it didn’t try to fuck with either of them, just seemed to be helping keep watch. Genji stumbled a few times, but Jesse kept an arm around his waist and didn’t say anything about it. It started to happen more frequently as they moved, Genji getting harder to hang onto the less he could carry his own weight, and the dragon eventually disappeared back  _into_ Genji in a move that made every hair on Jesse’s body stand on end. Jesse got him to the safe house before he could totally collapse. It wasn’t far from the drop point; he shot their coords to Gabe for pickup.

Genji flopped onto a wooden chair that creaked under his weight, and Jesse offered him a smoke. “You hurtin’ at all?” he finally asked, and Genji shook his head. “Can I get some kinda rundown?”

Genji glared, but he yanked the mask off and huffed angrily at the cigarette. Jesse wondered if it did anything for him at all, or if it was just something to  _do_. “I am fatigued,” Genji admitted after a moment. “It does not hurt.”

“The dragon do that to you?”

“If I let her stay too long,” Genji answered, then started prodding at his own leg like he could do anything about it right now.

“Her?” Jesse asked, amused. Genji only shrugged. Jesse sighed. “You know you’re gonna get a lecture ‘bout runnin’ off on your own when Gabe gets here.”

“Yes. I don’t need to suffer yours on top of it.” Genji shot him a warning look.

Jesse just snorted. “Get mad if you want. I ain’t leavin’ you to die though.” Not again. 

“I am not him,” Genji said sharply. 

Jesse rolled his eyes right through it. It had been a few months, long enough that the hit to his gut felt duller and more distant every time Genji brought it up. “No shit.” Genji eyed him with his scarred mouth all twisted up, but there was something else too, like a question he wasn’t gonna ask. Jesse sighed and looked right into his creepy red eyes. “Quit that. It’s got nothin’ to do with your brother. You and I were friends too, weren’t we?” Genji didn’t really soften up or anything, but Jesse could see him thinking it over anyway. “Y’always forget I offered you a way out. You said no.”

Jesse’s voice came out a little harder than he meant it to, but it didn’t seem to faze Genji. Jesse didn’t tell him the rest, that he’d go back if he could, figure out some way to make the offer a little clearer, get them both out of there. He didn’t tell Genji he was right in some ways, that Jesse’d thought before he’d trade them if he could, even if it meant Hanzo would be stuck in a body like Genji’s, angry at the world and everyone in it like Genji. Might still be better than being the one who tried to kill his brother. He didn’t tell Genji that Jesse’d also thought about taking Genji’s place himself, wondered if Genji would’ve gotten the hell out if Hanzo had just  _done it_ , killed Jesse right in front of him.

There were a lot of ways he played it out in his head, when he let himself think on it too long. But here and now, there was Genji, alive and in front of him. “You’re not gonna die on my watch,” he insisted, and Genji only nodded, seemed to finally believe him for once. 

* * *

Jesse could  _feel_  it still. It made him sick to think about, made his whole body shake with nausea when he looked down and saw the arm wasn’t even there. But he could  _feel it_. He could feel his eyes stinging too, and he blamed whatever cocktail they had running through his body to stave off the pain. It was cold in his veins, but he couldn’t feel much else, so it must be doing its job.

Genji showed up same time he always did, flopped into the chair by his hospital bed and propped his feet on the end, same as Jesse had a few years ago. “You look like shit,” Genji said by way of greeting, and Jesse laughed.

“Right back at ya, cyborg,” Jesse said.

“I don’t know what you mean,” Genji told him, running a metal hand down his updated plating. “I polished it today. I’m beautiful.”

Jesse laughed again, and he focused on Genji. It was easier than thinking about the arm. “I like the lights. Gonna come in handy next time I throw a dance party.”

Genji grinned at him, then he got up to check the things on Jesse’s bedside table. “Am I supposed to bring you shitty crossword puzzles?” Genji teased.

“Please don’t. I’d take some movies if you got any, though.” 

Genji nodded, then he turned a more serious look on Jesse. “You know I have been here before.” He was staring right where the arm should have been, shameless about it. “If you need to tell someone what it really feels like, there is nothing that can surprise or upset me.”

Jesse squeezed his eyes shut and nodded. 

* * *

The night Genji returned, they met out on the rocks, and Jesse chainsmoked while Genji looked on. “Thank you,” was the first thing Genji said, and Jesse grunted. “You persuaded him.”

Jesse snorted at that. “Guess I did.” He watched the moon over the water, tried to push down the resentment that wanted to rise up when he thought about how fucking  _rude_ Hanzo could be. None of that was Genji’s fault, even if Genji was the one who charged Jesse with dealing with him. “Not gonna fuck up your chance to have a brother again.”

Genji laughed a little, a funny metal sound behind the faceplate. “I appreciate that. I know it may be... difficult.” Jesse grunted again, but he didn’t say anything this time. “What is... what is he like now?”

Jesse scrubbed a hand over his face. It really didn’t matter how grateful Genji was, how much he might apologize if Jesse admitted to how hard it really was. It didn’t make it any easier. “Kind of an asshole,” Jesse finally said.

Genji laughed again. “That is unfortunate, but it is not surprising.” 

“Maybe kinda lost too. He’s only here for you, but you might be right it’s good for him in other ways.” Jesse shrugged, then he cleared his throat. He didn’t really want to talk about it more than that.

Genji was quiet for a moment, seemed to be thinking carefully about his words. “I am not unaware of what I have asked of you.” Jesse scratched a hand through his beard, but he didn’t deny it. “What is it like for you?”

Jesse shook his head, huffed out a sound that he’d meant to be a laugh but that clearly fell short. Genji wanted the truth, he knew, but Jesse didn’t know how to give it without blaming somebody. “Awkward. Confusing. Kinda bullshit, if you gotta know. He’s rude as hell and don’t want a damn thing to do with me half the time, acts like he only ever thinks the worst of anybody. Don’t really blame him, but I’m gettin’ tired of it.” 

Genji was eager for more, for any detail at all about Hanzo, even the shitty ones. Maybe especially those. But Jesse cut himself off there, because he wasn’t really willing to deal with any of it. 

Genji laughed a little. “He would not be the first Shimada whose anger you’ve had to navigate. I am sure you will figure it out.” 

* * *

Jesse couldn’t talk to Genji about it this time, didn’t have anybody to listen to the mess in his head. Fareeha didn’t  _need_ to hear it, and Genji didn’t wanna be in the middle, however fine he’d been with sticking  _Jesse_ in the middle when it was him and Hanzo. Even that doctor Winston had brought in wasn’t gonna be any help, because talking about any of it meant talking about the covert investigation.

Not like Jesse could have put any of it into words anyway. The only person who might remotely understand was Hanzo himself, and he had all the emotional intelligence of a brick. It was impossible to say what the hell Hanzo was doing or thinking any given moment. 

Jesse hadn’t lied to him, not once. He knew he wasn’t dealing with the same person Hanzo had been years ago; he knew he might not have even known  _that_ person, not the way he thought he had. He knew if anybody else had shown up looking like that, he’d have propositioned him in the first week, teammate or no teammate, but that Hanzo was a complicated, infuriating mess hiding behind a hundred walls, no matter how many times he let slip just how lost he really was, made Jesse want to both shake him and take care of him. 

He was a deadly, walking mass of mixed signals, and Jesse figured he couldn’t entirely blame him for it. At least he was  _trying_ now, being a little nicer and listening a little more. He hadn’t really  _done_ anything blameworthy since they’d started drinking together, was even pleasant company when he figured out how to loosen up. 

But Jesse had been honest, at least as much as he was able. He didn’t know how to explain everything, but he’d admitted that too, and any time Hanzo asked him something, he told him. And then Hanzo kissed him anyway, surrounded by the dead and those scary fucking dragons that were nothing,  _nothing_ like Genji’s, for the briefest second set Jesse’s blood to boiling like he was twenty-three again, like he still didn’t know Hanzo would think about murdering him, would actually try to murder his own brother, would actually murder  _hundreds_ of people after, including Gabe if he had to, like he hadn’t spent months confusing the hell out of Jesse on top of it all. 

Jesse had kissed him back, and only after did Hanzo tell him what else he’d done, and Jesse wanted to hate both of them and couldn’t.


End file.
